


Let Me Go

by theinvisiblequestion



Category: Perception (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisiblequestion/pseuds/theinvisiblequestion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An encounter with a top suspect goes awry, landing Kate in the hospital, and her recovery takes an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work can also be found on FanFiction.Net.

Kate watched from her hiding place as Daniel cautiously approached their suspect. "We can do this without anyone getting hurt," Daniel said.

"Can't you hear them?" asked their suspect. His blue eyes seemed to bulge from under his blond fringe, exaggerating the appearance of his psychosis.

"What do you hear?" Daniel asked.

Smith covered his ears, shivering violently. "Screaming," he breathed. "Wailing. Pleading." His blue eyes stared into nothingness.

"There's no one screaming," Daniel explained slowly.

Smith turned to Daniel. "Make them stop," he begged piteously. Smith lunged at Daniel, and fisted his hands in Daniel's shirt, his wild eyes pleading. "Help them."

Daniel gently pushed Smith away. "I can't, but I know someone who can."

"No, no, no, NO!" Smith bellowed. He turned away from Daniel and curled into himself, crouching on the cement floor. "Everywhere I go, every minute of my life, they scream and scream for help." Smith rocked slightly in time with his mantra.

Daniel stepped backward warily. "Is that why you killed those people?" he asked.

"They didn't understand," Smith crooned, eyes unfocused, apparently oblivious of Daniel moving away. "They wouldn't _help_."

"There's no one to help but you," Daniel said.

Smith shifted slightly and Daniel saw the glint of metal, cradled against Smith's chest. Smith's pale fingers stroked the blade, and Daniel chanced a look toward Kate's hiding spot. Kate threw her head toward the door in a gesture for him to get the hell out of there.  
Daniel quietly paced backward, heading for the door.

"Why won't you help them?"

Kate's voice rang out through the warehouse. "Daniel, run!" she shouted as she sprang out of her hiding place. Daniel turned and sprinted away between the aisles, trying to remember the way out of the labyrinthine stacks and trusting that Kate was following. When he heard her cry out, he realized she wasn't following him, and he turned and ran back through the maze of boxes just in time to see Kate point her gun at Smith and stumble backward. Smith still had the knife clenched in his fist, and Kate's pale blue shirt was torn open. A dark red stain blossomed beneath the hand pressed to her side. "S-stop right there, Smith," Kate stammered, gritting her teeth and lifting one red hand to join the other on her gun. "Move—and I'll shoot."

Smith's eyes glinted viciously, and he raised his hands as if in surrender.

"Drop the knife," Kate said through her teeth.

Smith gave Kate a wicked grin and threw the knife with a flick of his wrist. "Kate!" Daniel shouted as Kate's finger pulled the trigger. But there was no stopping the knife, and Kate, unable to move quickly enough with the gash in her side, fell at the same time as Smith did, the knife lodged in the soft flesh between her ribs and her left hip.

Kate collapsed to the pavement, her gun clattering out of her hand. Daniel rushed to her, panicking and repeating her name.

"Daniel," she whispered thinly. "My phone." Her phone? Oh, of course, he still had it. He'd forgotten to give it back after Max had called earlier. He fished it out of his pocket and found the emergency dial button without any help.

He rattled off the address and Kate's condition, his mind clear and focused. He was discussing Kate's status as a Special Agent in the Chicago field office when he saw Kate tug the knife free with a grunt. She put pressure on her side with one bloody hand and the knife clattered to the floor.

"Kate!" Daniel exclaimed.

The dispatcher asked something Daniel didn't catch, but it obviously wasn't a guess at the truth, so Daniel just said, "No, she's—she pulled the knife out."

The dispatcher asked some inane question about Kate, to which Daniel replied, "She _is_ a trained FBI agent." The dispatcher asked where she was based, even though Daniel must have said it eight times already. "The Chicago field office." Daniel put the phone against his shoulder as Kate's eyes drooped. She was obviously struggling to keep them open, but Daniel knew that, even with the pressure, she was losing a lot of blood, and he couldn't be sure she wasn't bleeding internally. "Kate, stay with me," Daniel said, slapping her face none too gently. "Stay awake."

Kate gritted her teeth and stretched her free hand out to Daniel.

He took her hand and she gripped it tightly, crushing his fingers. The dispatcher asked if Kate was passed out. "No, she's still awake," he said. He could hear sirens fast approaching. The dispatcher must have heard them through the phone, because the next question was if Daniel could hear sirens yet. "Yes, I can hear them." The dispatcher asked Daniel to stay on the line, but Daniel said, "No, we'll be okay until they get here." He hung up and dropped the phone on the floor.

The sirens quickly grew ear-piercingly loud, and when the door behind them flew open with a _bang_ , Daniel shouted loudly until the paramedics found them.

The paramedics shouted terms and numbers at each other, and someone tried to persuade Daniel to move away, but he insisted on staying with Kate. She had held his hand when he needed it before, but he had never had the chance to return the favor. He kept his grip, only letting go twice: once to let the paramedics get her on the stretcher, and once to climb into the ambulance. She slipped in and out, and Daniel could track her consciousness by the pressure on his hand. When she was more awake, her grip tightened, and he dutifully relayed the information to the paramedics.

He held her hand through the hallways of the hospital, too, until they reached an operating room. Daniel squeezed her hand tightly before letting her go. She disappeared into the room along with a team of doctors and nurses.

Daniel stood in front of the door and wiped a bead of sweat from his face. He didn't realize until after he'd smeared his fingers across his face that they were red, covered with her blood. He stared at them in horror and fled for the nearest bathroom. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, and though he could scrub the blood from his skin, he could not erase the memory of Kate lying on the cold cement floor of a warehouse, a knife protruding from her side, her shirt stained with blood. He stared at his hands and his face, pink and raw. She'd taken that knife for him. The terror on her face as she'd gestured from her hiding place for him to leave. Her frantic cry for him to run. Facing Smith while Daniel fled. It all made sense: she'd seen the knife in Smith's hands long before Daniel had even suspected, and she'd gotten Daniel out of the way before he could get hurt. And then she'd taken the knife.

As he dried his hands and found his way back to the operating room, Daniel shuddered at the thought that he might have been out of the warehouse if he hadn't realized she wasn't following him. She might have bled out before he even realized anything was wrong.  
Daniel paced in front of the operating room until the surgeon emerged, pulling the surgical mask away from his face.

"How is she?" Daniel asked quickly.

The surgeon nodded. "She's going to be okay. We stopped the bleeding, but she's going to have to be on bed rest for a while. The wound went very deep, and she's lucky there was no internal bleeding. Are you—?" The surgeon made a vague hand gesture that Daniel took to mean 'an item'.

Daniel shook his head. "We're just friends. We work together. Sometimes."

The surgeon nodded. "Well, we're going to move her in a little bit. Do you know how to contact her family?"

"Her partner should h—"

"Where's Katie?" came a gruff voice from down the hall. Joe Moretti, in genuine Chicago cop mode, strode toward them. Daniel was very glad the ex-cop's gaze was fixed on the surgeon and not on Daniel himself.

The surgeon turned. "Are you—"

"I'm her father," said Joe.

"Ah. Well, we've just finished patching her up. She'll need bed rest, but she'll be okay. We'll be moving her to a recovery room shortly." The surgeon's pager beeped, and he ducked his head. "Excuse me." The surgeon left, headed for another surgery, leaving Daniel at the mercy of Joe Moretti.

"What happened?" Joe asked.

Daniel rocked back on his heels. "I was talking down a suspect—he was crazy, more so than I am on my worst days—and she was standing back, ready to come in if the guy rushed me or something. I didn't even see it, but all of a sudden she was telling me to go, so I started backing up, and that's when the guy pulled out a knife. Kate—" Daniel stopped. It was almost impossible to tell the story, and he took a moment to gather himself. "She told me to go. I thought she was following, but she'd stopped and faced him." He paused, remembering her cry and the blood. "She shot him as he threw the knife at her. Hit her in the side." Daniel gestured to the place on his own body, just above his hip. "I called the emergency dispatcher. She—" Daniel shuddered. "She pulled it out herself."

Joe didn't respond. He just stood silently, staring at the door. A nurse came to show them to Kate's recovery room a few minutes later. They were situating Kate when Daniel followed Joe in. Joe took the chair, and Daniel stood back, in the corner. The nurses left, and all that was left was to wait for her to wake up.


	2. Chapter 2

When Kate finally came to, the nurse came in and asked her a dozen questions and then told her that she was going to be just fine. Another nurse came in and spoke quickly and quietly to the nurse attending Kate, who nodded. The second nurse left, and Kate's nurse told them she'd be back in a little while, and that Kate could visit until then. Kate seemed to notice her father sitting in the chair for the first time.

"Dad?" Kate croaked.

"Got yourself a mean battle scar, didn't you, kiddo?" her father teased.

Kate smiled weakly, and her eyes fixed on Daniel. "Daniel," she said. He just waved his fingers at her. He could wait until she'd spoken to her father. She turned back to her dad. "Just a scratch," she replied.

Her dad must have given her some kind of look, because Kate blushed. "Do you need anything?" Joe asked.

Kate smirked. "No, I'm okay. It was only a four-inch blade."

"I heard you took it out yourself."

"It was poking me."

"Well, maybe after it's processed they'll let you keep it as a trophy."

"Doubtful. I don't think I want it anyway. I've got my battle scars, and that's enough." Daniel knew Kate's father understood gallows humor—he'd been a cop, after all—but it still made Daniel a bit uncomfortable, and he fidgeted a little.

Joe slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. "Well, I should get back to the bar, tell the boys not to worry about you."

"Okay. I'll see you later."

When Kate's dad had gone, Daniel took the chair next to Kate's bed. "Thank you," she said.

"I wasn't going to leave you there. I may be crazy, but I'm not inhuman."

"I meant for staying with me," she said. "I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd wanted to, you know, stay away from all the blood and the trauma."

Daniel nodded and stared at his fingers.

"Hey, are you okay?" Kate asked.

Daniel snorted. "Me? I'm not the one in the hospital bed."

"You know what I mean," she said.

"I'm fine," he said, still staring at his hands, wringing them together and trying to scrub the blood away.

"Daniel, how many times did you wash your hands?" she asked. In the two years since his last hospitalization, Kate had become well-acquainted with the signs, and could easily differentiate personality quirks from actual symptoms.

He looked up at her for a moment and then stared back at his hands, rubbing his thumb over the fingers of the other hand. "I lost count," he lied. "It was a lot of blood."

"You saved my life," she said. "Saving lives is messy business."

Daniel's hands stopped wringing. He stared at her for a moment, and the tension in his hands dissolved. "Yeah," he said. "Guess it is." He thought about what might have happened if he'd shied away. He may have gotten actual blood on his skin, but that would wash away; the blood he'd have had otherwise would never have washed away, no matter how many times he washed his hands.

Kate assured him that she would be back to work in no time, and this would be a thing of the past, just as the nurse came back. Daniel gave the nurse a polite smile and a nod. "I'll see you later," he said to Kate.

She nodded. "Daniel?" she called as he walked out. "I'll still be here."

He offered her a weak smile and left.

* * *

Daniel picked at his chow mein, not really in the mood to eat.

"Why didn't you tell her?" Natalie asked. Daniel hadn't seen her in over a year. He noticed her hair was shorter; it only came to her shoulders now.

"What's to tell?" Daniel asked irritably. "It was bound to happen."

"That's the kind of thinking that got you in the hospital back in '97. You remember that."

Daniel gave her a dirty look. "I am done talking about '97. I was done talking about '97 a long time ago."

"You're doing really well," she said, "and I know you know why."

"Excuse me," Daniel said, waving his chopsticks dramatically. "I have been recently traumatized, okay? I think I'm allowed a discussion with my long-lost best friend in the wake of having witnessed both a stabbing and a shooting in the same ten seconds."

Natalie heaved a sigh, but a smirk tugged at her mouth. "You're impossible," she said. "Kate's going to be fine."

Daniel shook his head and dug his chopsticks into the cardboard carton of noodles. "Doesn't make it any better," he muttered.

"You mean the blood," Natalie said. "Why did you lie about losing count?"

"She didn't need to know," Daniel said. He'd counted, of course. He'd washed his hands eighteen times—with sixteen scrubbings in each wash—and his face twelve-times-sixteen, and it still wasn't enough to erase the memory, the terrifying uncertainty in all the blood.

"Daniel," Natalie said firmly. "You need to get a grip on yourself."

"I know, I know!" Daniel said, putting his hands up defensively. "Kate's going to live. I'm being oversensitive."

"You're overstimulated," she said. "I think I'm going to let you go to bed. You need some sleep."

"Not like I'm going to get any," he muttered. He felt tired, but his mind was racing, playing that horrible scene over and over. He could still see her falling, and the blood, so much—

"Daniel," Natalie warned. "You need to go to sleep."

"Fine." He got up and put the noodles in the fridge, then went upstairs to brush his teeth and lay in bed. Natalie came in as he was settling in. "Am I five years old now?" he asked. "You don't have to tuck me in."

Natalie smirked. "Just saying goodnight," she said, kissing his forehead. "Don't overthink it, okay?"

Daniel sighed. "I'll try," he conceded. "But I make no promises."

* * *

Daniel forced himself to give his morning lecture before he went to see Kate. She was half-asleep when he arrived.

"Hey," he said, sitting in the empty chair by her bed.

"Hey," she replied tiredly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Eh," she said, shrugging with the shoulder on her good side. "Painkillers. 'M just sort of... numb." She gave him half a loopy smile and, after a moment, asked, "How are you?"

"I'm  _fine_ ," he insisted. "I even lectured this morning."

"Good," Kate mumbled. Her eyelids drooped heavily, and she nodded a couple of times before she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Daniel hadn't gotten much sleep himself, worried as he was about Kate, and he dozed in the chair until a shrill howl pierced the quiet of Kate's room. His eyes snapped open and he sat up so quickly he nearly fell out of the chair. Kate was twitching and coughing, her eyes half-closed.

He pushed the call button on Kate's bedside and tried to calm her down, but she didn't seem to be able to hear him. Daniel squeezed her hand as a nurse rushed in, taking quick stock of the situation and then babbling medical jargon into the intercom on the wall.

The world became a whirlwind of machines and voices and hands, and Daniel fled to the hallway to catch his breath. He watched through the window as the nurse got Kate sedated, and then he walked back in, fists clenching and unclenching nervously, and took her hand as the nurse called for the doctor.

He studied Kate's face as the doctor strode in, speaking a language Daniel only dimly remembered from his pre-med days. He understood enough to know that the doctor was concerned. She was sedated for now, but the thought of what might happen when the sedative wore off scared him—it worried the staff, too. Would she seize and cry, or would she return to herself? Would she remember or would she forget? Perhaps the most terrifying question of all: would she wake up?

He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand absently while more doctors came in and out, talking in their advanced medical jargon about symptoms and conditions and causes. The situation seemed surreal, and Daniel questioned reality. Was Kate actually lying in the hospital, or was she at work, waiting for him to finish his lectures so she could bring him a celebratory, case-solved cup of tea? Had she even been stabbed? He didn't know.


	3. Chapter 3

A nurse came in then and informed Daniel all too calmly that they needed to do some tests on Kate, but he could wait in the waiting room. The nurse promised that they'd call Daniel if anything happened. Daniel gave Kate's hand a squeeze and told her he'd be back soon, and walked out into the waiting room. He asked the receptionist where the nearest pay phone was, and after a strange look, she pointed him to an ancient relic stashed in a corner of the lobby.

Daniel fed the machine some coins and dialed Max's number.

"Max Lewicki," Max answered.

"Lewicki, it's me."

"Doc. You okay?"

Daniel glanced back at the doors he'd walked out of minutes before. "No," he answered. "Kate's—she's not doing well."

"Did something happen?"

"Yeah, she, uh, she had a seizure," Daniel said quietly. "Well, not quite a seizure. Everything was fine, and then she started screaming and thrashing. The nurses came in and sedated her, and now the doctors are running tests."

"And you, Doc?" Max asked. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," Daniel said. "I have to call her dad."

"Do you want me to come get you?"

"No, I'll take a cab."

Daniel hung up and dialed Joe Moretti's number.

"Joe Moretti."

"It's Daniel Pierce."

"Dr. Pierce? Is everything okay?"

"No." No point trying to water the truth for a man who'd given out more than his fair share of hard news. "She had a seizure. The doctors are running tests now."

"I'm on my way." Joe hung up. Daniel picked a chair and sat with his head in his hands, waiting.

* * *

"Mr. Moretti? Dr. Pierce?" the nurse called. Daniel stood quickly. Joe turned from his brown study at the window. "You can come back now."

Daniel exchange worried glances with Kate's father as they followed the nurse back to Kate's room. He hoped that no news was good news.

She was awake. Daniel stood back in the corner as Joe took the chair by Kate's bed.

"Hey, kiddo." Joe's rough cop voice was softer, like it always was when he was concerned about his little girl. "How do you feel?" Joe asked.

Kate looked around the room, her eyes darting from place to place until they found Daniel. "Tired," Kate said hoarsely, her gaze fixed on Daniel. "They tell me I had a seizure." She tore her eyes from Daniel halfway through her sentence, forcing herself to look at her father and not her friend.

Her bewilderment was poorly masked, and her genuine confusion worried Daniel. He moved from the corner where he stood and pulled up a second chair opposite her father. "You don't remember?" he asked.

Kate frowned, staring thoughtfully at the IV in her hand. "I—" She sucked in a ragged gasp. "It hurt," she said quietly. "Like I was burning from the inside out."

Daniel closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as his chin fell to his chest.

"I think," she said haltingly, "that knife might have been poisoned." Vicious coughs wracked her body, and Daniel's fingernails bit into his palms as Joe did his best to comfort Kate. Daniel felt more useless now than ever, unable to help Kate in any way, but he did not resent her father's presence. It was more than he'd had.

Her coughs subsided, and she lay still, her eyes closed as she breathed slowly, deeply. After a minute or two, Daniel realized that Kate's father was looking at him. Daniel didn't understand why; it was Kate who needed watching. Daniel continued to watch Kate, and Joe continued to watch Daniel, until Kate opened her eyes again and attempted a weak and somewhat pained smile. It was unquestionably directed at Daniel, and in it, Daniel found the resolve to take her hand—carefully, because it was the hand with the IV. It didn't seem to matter that her father was there, probably because any good friend would have done the same.

Kate closed her eyes again, and her breathing evened out into sleep. After half an hour, Joe reluctantly slipped his hand out of Kate's. He gave Daniel a long, hard stare before he spoke—quietly, so as to avoid disturbing Kate. "I've still got a business to run," he said, regarding Daniel severely. "You take care of her until I get back."

Daniel understood most of the things Joe wasn't saying, or wouldn't say, or couldn't say. Daniel knew that, if it was absolutely necessary, Joe had enough regular business to close the bar for a week. But he trusted Daniel with Kate, and expected Daniel to take care of her while he was gone. There wasn't much to do, of course, because Kate was asleep and also under the care of half a dozen nurses, but that didn't mean that Daniel wouldn't do anything and everything he could.

Daniel nodded.

Joe leaned down to kiss his sleeping daughter's forehead before he left. Daniel carefully extracted his hand from Kate's, laying hers gently on the bed, and moved to the other side so he wouldn't need to be quite so careful about holding her hand. He thought long and hard about her symptoms, about all the things he'd learned in medical school, but it was about as much use as contemplating Homer.

He was surprised when, about five minutes later, a familiar face sat in the chair he'd been sitting in before. Had he forgotten to take his meds again, or was he just getting worse?

"I think I might have been wrong," Natalie said quietly. "But she could very well come through."

"I know," Daniel whispered. He didn't want to wake Kate, especially when there was actually no one around.

"It's okay for you to be concerned," Natalie said. She knew he was more concerned than he thought he should be, or was allowed to be.

Daniel only sighed. Natalie watched him with a heavy concern of her own, the concern of a best friend. He thought it strange that his subconscious mind would be so concerned for its conscious partner when it should have been worrying about Kate, since every other part of him was worried about her. He sat there for another twenty minutes, and neither he nor Natalie said a word. Eventually, his shoulder got sore from sitting still for so long, and he shifted so he could be more comfortably holding Kate's hand.

He would have said that he held her hand because she needed to know someone was there with her, but in truth, he needed to know she was there. Her hand was a little cold, but if he moved his index finger half an inch, he could feel the pulse in her wrist, letting him know she was really only asleep. He was afraid of what might happen the next time she came out of slumber. Would she open her eyes and try to give him a weary smile, or would she scream and seize? Either seemed likely at the moment, and though he hoped the seizure had been a one-time thing, he suspected it wasn't.

"Time isn't going to stop for her," Natalie reminded him after another long silence. "You still have things you have to do."

"I won't leave her," Daniel said.

"The nurse is going to make you leave in about five minutes." She was right, of course. Daniel was probably breaking rules already. Only a select few family members were allowed to stay, and Joe had left almost half an hour ago. No one had come in since, but they were sure to be in any moment to kick Daniel out.

He felt panicky and anxious about having to leave her. Maybe if she'd said she'd wanted him to stay, if she said it to the nurse... but she was tired and sick and he couldn't really do anything for her while she slept, anyway.

The nurse came in at that moment, right on cue, and quietly and politely told Daniel that he would have to leave, and when she had escorted him to the hallway, she quickly told him exactly how often he was allowed to visit Kate, which might as well have been never. He protested, of course, but as he was nothing more than her friend, he had no right to stay with her, no matter how much she needed a hand to hold.

He called a cab to take him home, dutifully took his meds, and tried to occupy his mind with news, but it was useless. His head was full of the last twenty-four hours, of terror and torment and Kate.


	4. Chapter 4

The test results, rushed through because she was an FBI agent and because the doctors had absolutely no idea what to do, came back that evening: poison. The poison was a chemical compound with a frighteningly long name and had been found in her blood and on the knife. Roger had brought it over, and now he waited for Daniel to finish reading the rest of the report, which pretty much just said that they had no idea what this would do to her, and the fact that Kate was still alive was simultaneously cause for celebration and concern.

Roger offered Daniel a ride to the hospital.

Daniel shook his head. "They won't let me see her," he said soberly, handing the report back. "I'd just be taking up space in the waiting room."

Roger didn't seem to accept Daniel's refusal. "She's going to ask for you," he said. The way he said it implied a certainty and a confidence that Daniel couldn't fathom.

Daniel sighed. "I have no right," he said simply.

Roger still wasn't convinced. "You gotta at least come to her apartment and tell me what she needs."

Daniel hesitated, and then agreed. Maybe he couldn't fix her or even hold her hand, but he could do this for her.

* * *

Daniel leaned against the wall, staring out of the waiting room window. Waiting was sapping the energy out of him, and he was about to go call a cab, or Lewicki, when the nurse called his name. He turned, the last of his energy poured into hoping. "Yes?" he asked.

The nurse gestured for him to follow, and Daniel felt some of his energy return. When they were in the hallway, the nurse stopped. "Normally, it's not hospital policy to allow non-family members into a patient's room, but... well, you'll see."

Daniel felt a bubble of panic burst and spread through his body. He walked into Kate's room slowly, as if the world might shatter if he moved the wrong way. She was awake, but she looked exhausted. Joe sat next to her, his hands in his lap. When Daniel came in, Joe stood and fixed Daniel with a scrutinizing stare before stepping aside. Puzzled, Daniel sat in the chair.

"Hi," he said quietly.

Kate hummed, then closed her eyes and, with obvious effort, said, "Hey."

Daniel was going to attempt to form a sentence, or a question, or some small bit of conversation that might help clear up his confusion, but Kate took a deep breath and managed a few more slurred words. "Gave 'em a talking-to."

Them? "The nurses?" Daniel asked.

Kate smiled weakly, her eyes still closed.

Daniel sighed. "I should go," he said. "You need to rest."

"No," Kate murmured, her eyes flying open. "Stay," she said. "Please." The words were so clear, so enunciated, that Daniel couldn't deny her.

"I don't think they'll let me," he said. He would have asked the nurse, except that everyone else seemed to have left the room. "But I'll ask when the nurse comes back."

"Told you. Gave 'em a talking-to. Can't argue with the government."

Daniel gave her a watered-down, short-lived smile. Jokes were a good sign: she was still Kate. "Okay," he said soberly, shifting and settling into the chair.

He thought she would drift off then, but she turned her hand over and held it out to him. Daniel dragged the chair until he was sitting parallel to the bed, arm of the chair pushed up against the bed frame. He settled in again and took her hand. She closed her eyes, and her breathing evened out as she fell asleep.

When Joe walked into the room later, Daniel started to get out of the chair, but Joe just shook his head. "Don't," he said, pulling up a different chair. He spoke quietly so Kate would continue to sleep. "You're doing more for her than I can," Joe admitted.

Daniel looked at Kate's hand, wrapped around his own. "She just needs to know someone's here," he answered. His thumb swept lightly across the back of her knuckles.

The corner of Joe's mouth turned upward. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I think she needs to know  _you're_  here."

Daniel wasn't convinced of that, but he didn't say anything. They sat in silence, Daniel alternately watching Kate and the floor, and Joe alternately watching Kate and Daniel. After an hour or so, Joe quietly got up, nodded to Daniel, and left.

* * *

Daniel hadn't intended to fall asleep, but he woke up some time after midnight, fingers still barely holding on to Kate's. He sat up and rubbed his sore neck with his free hand. Sleeping in chairs wasn't really something he was young enough to be doing any more, but he wasn't going to leave Kate, not if he was allowed to stay. He dug through her bag for the green fleece throw he'd taken from her couch and made himself as comfortable as he could manage. He rested his face against the side of her bed and watched her in the dim light from the window. She shifted, and her fingers tightened around his briefly. He expected her to keep sleeping, and was surprised—and a bit concerned—when her eyes flew open.

She gasped and blinked, and Daniel sat up. She smiled slowly, and whispered a greeting. "Time's it?" she asked.

"It's the middle of the night," he answered, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. "Go back to sleep."

"You're still here," she said.

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "So are you."

It was a morbid joke, but it made her smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"A little better." She eyed the chair warily. "You should go home and get some sleep."

Daniel shrugged. "I'm okay."

"It can't be good for you, sleeping in that chair."

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Go back to sleep, Kate."

"You first," she teased, but even in the low light he could see her blinking slowly, heavily. He leaned his head against the side of the bed and rubbed gentle circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. She blinked once more and then closed her eyes and slept.

He followed suit a few minutes later, the image of her in quiet slumber temporarily displacing the horrors of the last couple of days.


	5. Chapter 5

When the doctor walked into Kate's room, Daniel wanted to hide. He knew what the look on the doctor's face meant. He'd seen it before, almost thirty years ago, sitting in that tiny consultation room as the psychiatrist turned his life upside down. He took Kate's hand and squeezed gently. Joe looked worried, and Kate refused to let go of Daniel's hand.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Moretti?" called the doctor. "I'd like to speak with you outside."  
  
Joe stood and went into the hallway. The doctor shut the door, and Daniel hid his face in his free hand.  
  
"Daniel?" Kate asked. "What's wrong?"  
  
He shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know, and I hate not knowing."  
  
Kate didn't say anything, and they sat in silence until the doctor returned. "Dr. Pierce, if I could speak to Kate alone, please."  
  
"No," Kate and Daniel said in unison. "He's staying," Kate added.  
  
The doctor took a deep breath. "Okay... well, it appears that the poison has gotten pretty much everywhere. A vascular cleanse won't remove all of the poison. It may remove enough that your body will be able to get rid of the poison, and it may not."  
  
"What's the prognosis?" Daniel asked.  
  
"If the cleanse works, she'll have to come back periodically to make sure she's clean. If the cleanse doesn't work, well, it could be a few days or a few weeks. We're not sure."  
  
Daniel felt Kate's fingers tighten around his. He thanked the doctor, who took his leave. Joe came in, and Kate said, "You don't have to stay."  
  
Daniel gave Kate a bewildered stare, but she squeezed his hand and gave him a stern look, so he didn't say anything. Joe kissed his daughter's forehead. "I'll be back a little later, okay, Kitty?"  
  
"Take your time," Kate said.  
  
When Joe was gone, Daniel asked, "What was that?" It seemed wrong that Joe would just up and leave so soon after the diagnosis.  
  
"Daniel, don't. He's—he's going to visit my mom." She didn't meet Daniel's eyes. "It helps."  
  
"I—I'm sorry. I didn't realize—"  
  
"It's okay," Kate said. "He'll go visit her, spend the rest of the day behind the bar, have a few drinks with Bill and Stan after closing, pass out on the couch in the back, and come visit in the morning." She coughed, and Daniel waited, holding her hand.  
  
"And meanwhile, I'll be here," he said.  
  
"You've been here for almost all of the last two days," Kate reminded him. "You should go home and get some real sleep."  
  
Daniel shook his head. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."  
  
Kate squeezed his hand. "Promise me you'll go home and sleep when my dad comes back."  
  
"Kate..."  
  
"You need your sleep. You know you do."  
  
Daniel furrowed his brow. "Why are you so worried about me? You're the one in the hospital bed!"  
  
"Yeah, and you will be, too, if you don't take care of yourself!"  
  
Daniel blinked, and then laughed at the absurdity of it. "Kate, I'm fine," he assured her.  
  
"Bullshit," she said before he had a chance to continue.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You heard me. Stress and a lack of routine and no sleep, and you're trying to tell me you're fine?" Kate coughed a few times, then said hoarsely, "Sorry if I have a hard time believing you." She rubbed her temple with her fingertips.  
  
"You're more important right now," Daniel said. "I'll live."  
  
"And then what? I get out of here with a clean bill of health, only to have to watch you struggle through another major episode? I'm not going to be the reason you lose it. Not again."  
  
Daniel shakes his head. "It was never your fault, and it never will be. It's just part of the condition."  
  
"No. I'm not going to let you sit here and slowly go crazy just because you're not getting a good night's sleep in that chair!" Kate coughed violently. When the coughing subsided, she said hoarsely, "Just go home, Daniel. Go home and sleep and come back when you're rested."  
  
"If you think that—"  
  
"I said go."  
  
Daniel threw up his hands. "Fine." He stood up, fists balled at his sides. "If you want me to go home, I will, but if you really think I'm going to be able to sleep, then I'm not the only one in this room who needs a psychiatrist." She didn't respond in the first few seconds, so he turned and headed for the door.  
  
"Daniel, wait," she said.  
  
He stopped and faced her.  
  
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to sleep in that chair."  
  
"I'm not going to get any sleep anywhere else. I'm worried about you."  
  
"Why? You heard the doctor. If the cleanse works, I'll be fine."  
  
"And if it doesn't?"  
  
Kate looked away. "It's not going to do any good worrying."  
  
Daniel glanced at the other bed in the room, an unoccupied, unassuming hospital bed, and wondered why he hadn't thought of that in the first place. "Then I'll stay here," he said. "And I won't sleep in the chair."  
  
"You have to sleep somewhere."  
  
Daniel nodded to the empty bed. "I really don't think they're going to put anyone in there just yet."  
  
Kate stared at the bed for a moment, then nodded her agreement.  
  
Daniel sat back down in the chair and stared at his fingers. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just... I care about you, Kate. And I don't want to leave you alone here." Or anywhere, he added silently.  
  
Kate seemed to melt into her pillows a little more. She closed her eyes and mumbled something Daniel couldn't understand. He took her hand and drew circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. "Go to sleep," he said. "I'll be here."


	6. Chapter 6

Kate's next seizure woke Daniel out of a deeper sleep than he'd managed to get since the Incident. He slid off the spare bed and pressed the call button for the nurse. This time, he stayed while the Valium dragged Kate back to a medically-induced slumber. He kept a grip on her hand, and after the nurse left, insomnia took over as he waited for her to wake again.

The sky outside the window was a dark slate when Kate woke. "My head hurts," she croaked.

"You had a seizure again," Daniel said. "How do you feel?"

"Like someone set my brain on fire," she moaned, closing her eyes.

Daniel rubbed his thumb over her hand. She coughed violently, and he wished he could do more for her. "You should sleep," he said.

"Did you?" Kate asked. Her eyes searched his face for lies.

He didn't lie. He wouldn't—not now. "A few hours. After you went to sleep, I took over the other bed."

"Good. When my dad comes, will you go home for a while?"

"Why?"

"You need it."

"You want me to leave?"

"I want you to be okay." Coughs wracked Kate's petite body. "My dad'll be here," she said hoarsely. "You can go home and get some rest."

Daniel thought he might protest, but she was so adamant about taking care of him, even from her hospital bed, that he couldn't fight against her. "Okay," he said. He probably wouldn't get a wink of sleep, but he could at least get a shower and a sandwich before he came back.

Kate gave him a tired smile, but it turned quickly to a grimace.

"What's wrong?" Daniel asked.

"Nothing," Kate said. "Just a headache."

"Are you sure?" Daniel got the feeling Kate wasn't being straight with him, and that made him more worried than anything.

Kate started to nod, then squeezed Daniel's hand tightly, squinching her eyes shut and gritting her teeth. A single tear escaped from between her dark lashes, and Daniel wiped it away before it could get more than a couple of inches down her face. "I'm okay," she whispered.

"No, you're not," Daniel said firmly. "You don't have to put on a brave face for me."

"Yes, I do," she protested weakly.

Daniel reeled. Where did she get the idea that she had to be brave for him? Just because he was mentally unstable didn't mean she needed to baby him. "Please," he begged. "Not this time."

Kate closed her eyes, breathing heavily. "Hurts," she said.

"I'll call the nurse," Daniel said, reaching for the call button.

"No," Kate said through her teeth.

Daniel hesitated, then pushed the button anyway. "You need it," Daniel said. "It'll make you feel better."

By the time the nurse walked in a couple of minutes later, Kate's hair was damp with sweat, and Daniel was starting to get seriously worried. Kate's heart rate had gone up, and after a quick once-over, the nurse gave Kate a dose of morphine.

Kate relaxed slowly and drifted into slumber. Daniel sat with her until Joe showed up around eight-thirty in the morning. He was reluctant to leave, but he knew Kate would have a conniption if he was still around when she woke up, so he squeezed her hand, told her he'd be back soon, and let Joe take a shift.

* * *

The following days blurred in Daniel's mind. He and Joe and sometimes Roger took shifts sitting with Kate so she was never alone, but Daniel spent the most time with her by far, and as a result witnessed the most of her seizures, which became more frequent and more violent with every passing day.

After a week, Kate was hardly ever fully conscious. She spent her waking hours in a drugged haze, forcing grimaces and clinging limply to Daniel's hand. Her speech often slurred, and she had to make an enormous effort to enunciate. On Kate's eighth day in the hospital, Daniel insisted on taking the overnight shift, though he hadn't gone home at all that day. Kate didn't protest—not that she had the energy.

"Daniel," she said quietly, when everyone else was gone and the room was still and silent again.

"I'm here," he said, thinking she was in some kind of delirium and wanted to know he hadn't left.

"You've... been here... all day." Her speech was labored, and Daniel wanted so badly to make her better.

"You need me," he said.

Kate grimaced, the closest thing to a smile she could manage. "I need... you... to be... okay."

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"No." She paused, gathering her strength. "You're in... denial," she told him.

"What?"

Kate squeezed his hand weakly as her eyes watered. "Daniel... I'm not... gonna be... okay."

Daniel felt a prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes. "Yes, you will," he said, his voice rough. "You just have to let your body clear out the poison. You'll be fine."

"No," Kate rasped, and Daniel let himself crumple, his forehead resting on the edge of the bed. "But... you will."

"How?" Daniel asked, pleading silently with her to fight, not to give up. "I need you."

"You... have me... now."

"Don't leave," Daniel begged.

"Not... yet."

Daniel wrapped both hands around her small, frail one, lifting his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. _Sorry for being such a neurotic headcase. Sorry for not looking out. Sorry for making you take the knife. Sorry for always letting you down._ He brushed a hand over her hair, then leaned over the side of the bed and kissed her lips carefully, so as not to break her. When he leaned back in the chair again, Kate coughed violently.

"Don't... be sorry," she said. "I'm... not g-gone... yet."

Daniel shushed her gently, running his fingers over her hair, her face. She looked so frail and delicate now, and Daniel could find only a few traces of the badass crime fighter he knew so well. But she was still a fighter. She could come through. She _would_ come through. As she succumbed again to sleep, Daniel became aware of a familiar presence in the room.

"Daniel," Natalie said from the end of the bed, "I think it's time you learned to let go, don't you?"

Daniel looked up from his brown study of Kate's delicate fingers. His eyes met Natalie's, and something somewhere in his mind told him he was only staring at the air. "What?"

Natalie walked slowly around the bed and crouched next to the chair so she was looking up at him. It made him feel six years old, and he had a horrible sinking feeling he knew the sort of thing she was going to say. "You're going to have to let go of her soon," Natalie said.

Daniel adjusted his grip on Kate's hand. "She needs me."

"You know what I mean."

Daniel turned away from Natalie's too-kind face. She reminded him of other faces which had spoken similar words. He watched instead Kate's pale, gaunt face. Two weeks ago, he'd seen her come out of a sparring session with her brown hair pulled up behind her head, eyes sparkling, cheeks rosy with exertion, and a sweaty grin plastered on her face. Now he was lucky to get a weary smirk out of her. The sweat on her forehead was cold, and her hair fell limply over her shoulders. In the brief periods of her wakefulness, her eyes were lackluster in her tired face, and they haunted him while she slept.

She was sick.

_No_ , said a horrifying part of Daniel's mind—horrifying because it was his own voice, his own conscious thought, and not just another figment of his diseased imagination. _Not just sick._ He felt a strange twisting deep in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Kate Moretti was dying, and it hurt like hell.


	7. Chapter 7

Daniel had a therapy session the next morning. He went, not because he wanted to, but because Kate would have his head if she found out he'd been skipping sessions (and she would find out). He hated talking about his feelings and his emotions, but the logical part of his mind had accepted a while ago that emotion played a major role in his well-being whether he liked it or not.

"Something's bothering you," Rosenthal commented near the end of their session. Daniel had been carefully avoiding it for the last twenty minutes. "How is Kate?"

Daniel shook his head. He stared at his fingers, laced together in his lap, one thumb absently rubbing at the back of the other hand. "Worse," he said. "She sleeps a lot, but she seems to still be Kate when she's awake." There was a long silence, a quietness that waited for the words Daniel didn't want to say.

Finally, he forced them out, and they fell in a heavy whisper. "She's dying."

"Plenty of people in that hospital are dying," Rosenthal said. "Life is a fatal condition."

"This is different."

"How?"

"I don't know anyone else in that hospital. I know Kate."

"I find that hard to believe. You've been a teacher for two decades; you've been alive for five. The chances of you not knowing someone who will die soon are very slim."

"They're not her." He slumped sideways in his chair, propping himself on an elbow. "What am I going to do when—" He stopped. Not _when_. _If_. This was still an _if_ situation. He shook his head. The clock on the wall said he had two minutes left in his session. "She might still come through," he said. "She could be okay." He repeated it to himself as he shrugged on his coat and thanked Rosenthal.

"Daniel?" Rosenthal said as Daniel opened the door to leave. "Just remember that she may not recover. You should be ready for that."

Daniel left without a word. Max was waiting in the parking lot for him, and they were both silent and solemn during the drive.

* * *

Daniel thought about going home that night. Kate's condition hadn't gotten any better or worse for two days, and he thought he could take it as a sign that things were turning around. Joe had spent two hours alone with Kate, and had come out looking worse than Daniel had ever seen him. Daniel went into Kate's room hesitantly, and she asked him if he would stay tonight. She'd never asked him to stay; usually, she tried to convince him to go home. The fact that she asked point-blank for him to stay with her gave Daniel a sick, horrified feeling in his stomach.

He ignored the sick feeling and the horror and took his usual place in the chair against her bed. She had asked; he wouldn't deny her.

She slept for a while after he came in, and then he felt a weak squeeze on his hand. He suspected she was only half-awake, because her eyes were still closed, but he said "hey" anyway.

She drew in a long, weary sigh. Her eyes fluttered open, and she mumbled something that might have been his name, and then added, "I'm so tired."  
Daniel didn't dare tighten his grip on her hand for fear of hurting her, but he touched her face gently. Her forehead was on fire. "I know," he said, even though he could only guess.

There was a long silence. Kate blinked a few times, slowly, before her eyelids drooped shut. Daniel thought she'd fallen asleep when she said his name again, clearer this time, but still half-mumbled.

He stroked the back of her hand gently with his thumb. "Yeah."

She struggled to open her eyes and enunciate. "I have... a lot to say... and... not a lot... of time." Her hand tightened weakly around his, trembling fiercely. "No... pussyfooting." Even sick and dying, she was still Kate. If he wasn't so afraid of what she'd say next, he might have smiled. "I..." She sucked in a deep breath, eyes fixed firmly on his. "I love you and... I want my... last night... to be with... you."

Her last night? She couldn't possibly know that. He wanted to protest, but she looked so sure of herself, of the fact that she wasn't going to last much longer. "I'm right here," he said.

"N-no," she stammered. "Hold... me."

Daniel's mind went into overdrive. What if it wasn't her last night? What if she was actually getting better? What if she really did come through? _Hold_ her? Did she mean—no—yes—she must—and yet— His mind exploded in a thousand questions like flashes of lightning, and, like lightning, were followed by the rumbling, thunderous weight of a single thought: _I love you._

Last night or not, he loved her, and he was a goddamned fool if he pushed her away again on the very slim odds that he'd have another chance. "Okay," he said.

It was tricky, and took a lot of careful, slow shifting, but he ended up situated in the hospital bed with Kate next to him, safely encircled in his arms.  
"Kate?" he muttered into her hair. She smelled like sickness, like the walkway to death, but he didn't care.

"Mm?"

"I love you," he said, just loud enough for her to hear. "And I'm sorry it took so long for me to say so." Too long, really, he supposed, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

Kate's hand—the one with the IV—curled tighter into his shirt, and the fingers of her other hand, tangled up in Daniel's, shook as they tightened briefly. "If I don't... die... will you... l-love... me?"

Daniel's eyes felt wet. His arms drew her a little closer. "I'll love you either way," he promised.

"Good." Silence descended, and eventually Kate fell asleep, her chest expanding ever so slightly against his. Daniel lay awake, listening to the steady beep of the monitor and feeling the flutter of Kate's pulse under his fingers, which told him she was still alive.

Around four o'clock in the morning, Daniel felt Kate's fingers dig into his chest. Her nails scraped at his skin through his shirt, but he ignored the sharp pain and held her as she writhed and whimpered, her forehead burning against his neck. He whispered her name over and over as her fingers clawed viciously and her back arched in agony. The pulse monitor went berserk, and the nurse ran in. She stopped short when she saw Daniel, and in the time it took her to regain her wits, Kate coughed violently, wetly, and lay still.

Daniel didn't need the long beep of the monitor or the confirmation from the nurse to know Kate was gone. He lay there a while longer, tears streaming into her hair, before he extricated himself. The nurse helped him arrange Kate on the bed so no one would be the wiser, then stood away from the bed while Daniel kissed Kate's still-warm lips once more. He stood at her bedside and looked at her as long as he could stand it before he picked up his coat and left.


	8. Chapter 8

He didn't notice until he was shrugging his coat on in the hallway that his gray t-shirt bore a red stain just where Kate's head had rested. The skin beneath the stain burned, but he buttoned his coat over it anyway. He was vaguely aware of walking into the waiting room, where three men of his and Kate's mutual acquaintance turned their faces downward. He ended up at home after some period of time, and robotically took off his shoes and coat before he walked up the stairs. He took pajamas out of his dresser and walked into the bathroom, where he saw himself in the mirror for the first time since Kate had asked him to stay the night.

His face was drawn and pale, and his red-rimmed eyes bore bruised arcs beneath them. The stain on his shirt had begun to turn a rusty red-black on the edges, but the middle was still a sickening red. He brought his fingers up to touch the still-damp splotch, and vomited a little into the sink. He didn't try to stop it, but he did turn his attentions to the toilet—he didn't feel like having to clean out the sink later—as whatever Max had forced into him earlier that evening came back up. When his stomach stopped convulsing, he yanked off his shirt and tossed it in the direction of the trash can. It missed, landing instead in the corner behind the can, between the counter and the toilet. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and turned on the shower. He stared at himself in the mirror while he waited for the water to run hot. A patch of skin just beneath his collarbone was tainted a light shade of red. It burned fiercely, hotter than the shower water that poured over him as he scrubbed his skin until it was raw and pink. He scrubbed the place where the stain had been, but he couldn't erase it. His mind dragged up a memory of her blood on his hands and face, and he scrubbed those, too, over and over, until he bled. He scrubbed until the hot water ran out and then he collapsed in a heap under the cold spray, freezing water pouring over his raw, bleeding skin as hot, salty tears flowed down the drain.

Max came in some time later, when Daniel had cried himself out. He shut off the water and draped a towel over Daniel, then helped him out of the shower and into his pajamas. Daniel collapsed into bed without a word.

* * *

He didn't go to her funeral. He'd already had one that night in the hospital, and he couldn't handle another. He stopped going to lectures. He didn't get out of bed for two days, except to stumble to the bathroom and stumble back, and when he did, he went downstairs and collapsed on the couch. Max forced him to eat at least once a day, but he ate mechanically and didn't taste the food. The days crawled and flew, the television droning on the same channel day and night. Daniel faded in and out of sleep, his mind running wild with dreams and delusions while he watched passively, uninterested in the ramblings of his diseased mind. He lay on the couch, body ablaze with the searing agony of her absence and the stinging patches of raw skin on his face and hands. He hurt all over, and in the complete pain, he was utterly numb.

The TV stuttered and shut off, and a familiar, impossible voice greeted him out of the silence. "Daniel," Kate called. She walked in from the entryway and sat on the edge of the sofa, on the edge of Daniel's vision. He didn't want to look, but he didn't want her to leave.

"Kate," he croaked forlornly, his voice hoarse with disuse.

She slipped her hand in his, and he looked at it. It was soft and clean, and bore no bruises, no marks where the IV had been. In his astonishment, he looked up at her, and felt his heart and stomach lurch at the sight of her, face flush with health and life, cheeks tinted a light pink. Her hair, pulled back the way she usually wore it, held more luster than it had when she died.

"I need you to do something for me," she said.

Daniel's heart quickened, because he had a feeling he knew what she was going to say.

"Get up and go to the hospital."

"I can't," Daniel moaned.

"You can."

"Hurts."

"I know. But you have to do it. You have to try." She stood up, and he clung to her fingers. "Daniel," she said sternly. "Come on. You can do it."

"I can't."

"For me," she said. "I love you, and I want you to be okay."

Daniel pulled himself off the couch. He managed to keep his feet as the room spun for a few seconds and then stood still. He still clung to her hand, and when he turned his head toward where she stood next to him, he could detect the faint smell of her, vanilla shampoo and black coffee. He knew it was all an illusion, a lie, but even the memory of the smell stole the breath from his lungs and constricted his chest until his eyes watered. "How?" he asked.

"You'll find a way. You always do."

Daniel heard footsteps on the stairs.

"There's something else you have to do, too," Kate said. Her fingers relaxed in his, and Daniel shook his head. He whispered something like _no_ , and she nodded.

"Don't go," Daniel begged.

"I don't want to," she said. "I never did. But I didn't have a choice. You do."

Daniel stared at her, silently begging her to change her mind, to stay with him.

"Doc?" Max inquired.

Kate put a hand on his chest, just below his collarbone where he'd scrubbed the skin raw trying to cleanse himself. He felt nothing, not even the pressure of a hand. She was just a ghost, a creation of his mind designed solely to haunt him. He put a hand over hers, and her fingers disappeared into his.

"Let me go," she said quietly.

Daniel's breath caught and faltered, but as she stepped back and her fingers came away from his chest through his hand, he forced himself to open the other hand and release the fingers it held so tightly to. This wasn't Kate; this was his mind, playing cruel tricks on him. He turned around to face Max's concern.

"What—" Daniel cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound normal, not hoarse with emotion. "What time is it?"

Max looked at his watch. "Nine-thirty."

"Half an hour," Daniel said. He needed a shower—a quick one, in lukewarm water—and time to shave and throw his things in a bag. "I need to go to Rexford."

"Rexford? Are you sure?"

Daniel nodded. He couldn't go to Nazareth. That was where—no, he was letting go, and that meant not thinking about her. Rexford was before she came back to Chicago, before she saw first-hand the depths of his insanity. At Rexford, he could let go.

* * *

"I have to stop and get gas," Max said when the car _ding_ ed at him. They were only halfway to Rexford, but it was almost an hour and a half drive from the house. Daniel shrugged and Max turned off the highway into the next solitary, middle-of-nothing gas station.

On an impulse, Daniel got out of the car to stretch his legs. He walked to the little patch of grass and leaned against the station sign, staring out across the bare fields. The highway was only moderately busy—only ten or twelve cars passed by in a single minute. He heard Max call him and started back to the car. The scream of brakes and rubber on pavement filled his ears, and he turned toward the source of the noise.


End file.
